Shattered Glass & Other Fragments
by jsq
Summary: In which Tony faces reality and Ziva is more than a few steps behind. A series of inter-connected one shots. Rated T for language.
1. Shattered Glass

**Shattered Glass.**

He keeps his breath steady, determined to neither faint nor puke. He focuses on the in and out, gritting his teeth against the searing burn in his chest, resisting the urge to curse the airbag and seatbelt that saved his life. In and out.

"This is going to sting a little."

"A little" is an understatement, and Tony allows himself a single curse as the first shard of glass is removed from cheek. _"Shiiiiiit," _he groans, and then it's back to the breathing. The nurse works quickly and though all Tony can see from his current angle is the man's midsection, he can hear the glass dropping into the metal pan. The sound it makes is almost delicate, a tiny _clink_.

There was nothing delicate about the sound it made earlier, when they were in the middle of a goddamned moment. He can only remember flashes: Ziva telling him something that wasn't easy to tell, the realization that this time- this time- he had gotten it right, and the feeling that he should take her hand. Then there was the shattering. It was a big sound, mixed with a lot of other big sounds, and that's when the pain began.

He is going to be fine. A burning chest. A shredded cheek. An aching head. The accident sounded worse than it was. For him. He isn't sure about her. He hasn't asked.

He is going to. He is. He will wait for the boss. Or maybe Abby. If he waits for Abby, he won't even have to ask because it will be all over her face, and no one will have to say any words.

Another _clink_, another little piece of glass.

He isn't interested in anyone's words. He is haunted by the silence that followed the breaking glass. She hadn't made a sound. Not a single sound. He reminds himself to breathe.

"Last one," says the nurse. A final _clink_, and it's time to be stitched back together.

If he gets the chance, he has some words for her. He is tired, and he's going to tell her so. He's done with vendettas and everyone's eye-for-an-eye bullshit. He understands, he really does, but it's not worth the quiet in that car after the crash. It is not worth the fear of what he will hear when he finally manages to ask.

His face has been numbed, but the first prick of the needle against his skin still draws a hiss.

If he gets a chance, he will tell her that he is out. He will beg her to be out too. He will fucking beg her. She won't like it, but maybe he will make her see. Maybe he will make her understand that this has to be the last night he spends terrified to find out how much he has lost.


	2. Broken Bones

**Broken Bones.**

It is finished.

She dips a toe into the bath she has just drawn. It's too hot. She always does that, turns the knob a little too far to the right and makes something that should be pleasurable painful. There is nothing to be done about it now. The tub is full, and the hot water is finished. She squeezes her eyes against the burn as she steps in.

The rest of her body is submerged in the scalding water, and she turns to rest her swollen cheek against the cool slate tiles of the shower. Heaven. Those tiles were why she took this apartment. She had only been back in D.C. for five days at the time, and she was not even sure she would be allowed to stay, but the need to find a place of her own had been overwhelming. She was lost and nothing in the world felt real, but she still had access to her bank account, and an apartment seemed like something she could grab onto. Then, like now, her body was covered in marks, proof of where she had been. She had seen this place, those slate tiles that would always be cold to the touch, and knew she had found home. Three years have passed and right now those slate tiles seem like the best decision she's ever made.

She takes a quick inventory of her latest injuries. She should have gone to the hospital. Her right hand is more mangled than she had realized, probably fractured. She cannot say why it is that she refused something as simple as an x-ray. Apologies she can accept; medical attention is the true sign of weakness. She will go tomorrow, when there is no one around to see her give in, when it is too late and the bones will have already begun to heal all wrong.

It is her way, and it is beginning to feel foolish.

Tony's point is on its way to being made. He hadn't pushed when he'd asked her to walk away. He had argued his side passionately, but with an air of a man who had already been ignored. He had no idea, _no idea_, how close she had come to listening. How badly she had wanted to obey.

Her skin is a stinging red from the heat of the water. So ugly. She shifts in the tub to adjust her view, careful not to splash any water over the side. Her cell is down there, because she likes the idea that maybe he will call, maybe ask if she is alright, maybe tell her he understands. He won't, but she likes the thought that he might.

If he calls, she will tell him that she had a debt to pay. Her father…well, it was always going to be something like this, was it not? Of course it was Bodnar. Of course it was someone he had loved, had trusted. But when she was training, when she was fighting, when she was listening as the fragile bones in his body broke all at once, it was not Eli David occupying her thoughts. It was Jackie Vance.

She turns her head to give her other cheek some time with the tiles. She glances again at the phone that will not ring. She continues the conversation in her head.

The Director showed her kindness when he said he did not blame her. It did not erase the truth- that he had let her stay when it would have been rational to make her leave and three years later his wife is dead as an indirect result. There are the children. The girl who is just about the same age she was when she returned home from school to find her mother, her beautiful mother, with her neck twisted at an impossible angle, broken by a man with a point to prove.

She winces as she sees her motivations clearly. Why is it that always happens after her actions have become irrevocable?

She revises the conversation in her head. She will have to tell him that he was right, that it was an eye-for-eye, and that even though she thought it wasn't, it was about her. She is relieved he will not call. She had thought better of herself. Her own disappointment is enough for tonight.

Tears well in her eyes. She is not there yet. The realization is worse than any physical blow she sustained in the fight. This time, she thought she was getting it right. She didn't listen to him, convinced of her own rightness, knowing she could make him see later.

Now, she sees. That he has grown, while she is stuck. That it is the same, _exactly the same_, as all the times before. The ending never changes- no one is safer, no one feels better, the life that was taken does nothing to fill the void of the life that was lost, and she remains lost.


	3. Dashed Hopes

**Dashed Hopes.**

He wants a drink. He settles on pizza and the playoffs.

They aren't his favorite distractions, but sex isn't in the cards, and his favorite bar only reminds him of her. There are others in the city, of course, but the recent douchification of whiskey means that any bar he visits is guaranteed to have at least one table of 22-year-old guys in skinny jeans, top hats and suspenders, and he just can't deal with hipsters tonight. Not on top of everything else.

Besides, he needs to stay sharp. He worries what tomorrow will bring. He'll have to limit his distractions to those of the non-mind-altering variety.

But, damn, he would love a drink.

There's a knock, and he knows who it is. He stays put because right now, he'd rather party all night with top hat wearing hipsters than have to look at her. He glues his eyes to the game, takes another bite of pizza.

She knocks again, louder this time. He can play this whole scene out in his mind. She'll continue, just past the point of obnoxiousness. Then, she'll pick the lock. She'll waltz in, stand in front of his television, and she'll secretly expect him to think it's cute.

It's not cute anymore.

He decides to fast-forward to the end. "What can I do for you, Ziva?"

He doesn't ask her in, leaves her standing in the hall. Her thoughts are all over her face. She wants reassurance, she wants him to know she's sorry, she wants a fight, she wants to go back, she wants him to say she did nothing wrong, she wants it to be true. He wonders how she made it as a spy. Didn't anyone ever look at her?

"I thought we should…talk." She is being careful with her words.

He just keeps on looking at her, letting himself really see her. Tonight she looks so young. And he feels so old. "I think we've said enough for today."

She looks past him to the living room. She thinks he's going to let her in. She thinks they're going to have that talk. "Tony-"

But he cuts her off. "Enough, Ziva."

The righteous indignation flares on her face. This is where she was hoping they would land, but he's not going to play along.

"I mean it. Go home. You and your little secret have put us all in a hell of a position, and we're going to need our rest if we're going to have to wake up and deal with it tomorrow."

"Is it wise of you to throw stones about secrets?"

He wonders if she can see him too. If she can feel his disillusionment. God knows it seems practically tangible to him. He had been so focused on himself, that he had forgotten to see her as she actually is. She is so much more damaged than he had been willing to admit. Right now, no matter how close they get, she is going to sabotage it every time. Maybe she will get there eventually, but he has run out of time for waiting.

"It's not the same, and you know it. I don't wield my secrets like weapons, not like you."

She doesn't answer. She looks down. She knows. She can't say it right now, but he knows she knows.

There are other truths he can tell, now that he sees her more clearly. He can make her feel it too, this devastating disappointment that is making him miserable in his own skin. They were so close. He is so fucking angry at her.

But he keeps his words to himself, proof of how far he's come. He isn't going to hurt her. He doesn't want her hurt. He wishes she'd give herself the same consideration.

"I never intended…Adam…he was just a friend, and-"

"No," he tells her. "No, Ziva, you and I are just friends."

Her breath catches, her face falls, and she doesn't try to hide it from him. He kind of wants to give her a hug, which is more than a little fucked up.

"You are my best friend, Tony."

He nods. He knows.

"We will talk another day?" He can hear it in her voice, the way she is holding onto hope.

"Another day," he agrees, his own voice thick with anger and love.

"I hope it is a good game," she nods in the direction of the television.

He doesn't respond, and he doesn't watch as she walks away.


	4. Unmet Expectations

**Unmet Expectations.**

She clasps her hands behind her back so that no one can see them shake. It is true that she has never been one to count on a happy ending, but now the rush that comes from doing the right thing is wearing off and she is left with a creeping panic better left unacknowledged. She studies the men on either side of her- men who moments ago were her colleagues, but now are only her friends- searching for some sign that they might be feeling it too. They are blank slates, waiting for the elevator just as they've done a million times before.

This time is different.

Her throat is thick. She imagines herself as a stone, feeling nothing. The elevator opens, and she steps in behind her friends. McGee pushes the button for the lobby, and she blinks hard, a preemptive attack against any tears that might dare fall.

This is the last time.

She draws in a shaky breath. Tony's eyes dart her way, a subtle acknowledgement that he knows. She stands a little straighter, sending the message that she is fine.

But she's not.

She is gambling her meager piece of the world, hoping for a payoff. What will she do? What will she do if this resignation becomes permanent? She will belong nowhere.

There is the thought that perhaps it is what she deserves.

The elevator dings and she is the first one out. Tony is making a show of his over-the-top goodbyes to the guards and receptionists. McGee plays along, but she keeps going.

It will be easier if she does not look back.

"Hey!" Tony's voice stops her before just as she unlock the Mini.

"You're not going to say goodbye?" McGee's voice is joking, contrasting the hard glint in Tony's eyes.

She flashes him a light smile, kisses him on the cheek. "Goodbye, McGee."

"Are you just going to go home? I thought…I mean, would you guys like to grab a beer or something? There's that new pub…."

"I can't." She doesn't soften her tone, and she hates herself a bit for that.

Both men are staring at her- McGee with confusion, and Tony with something that's a little like anger, but more like disappointment.

"No worries, McGuiness. I'll go get a beer with you," Tony tells the other man.

She steps into her car, and her last thought before she drives away is that she has never been very good at being part of a family.


	5. Unexplained Absences

**Unexplained Absences.**

He waits two full weeks. He goes to the gym and to bowling night with Abby and to dinner with Ducky. He goes to that damn pub four more times with McGee. He pushes his friend for details on Delilah, he sits on his hands to keep from calling up Vance and digging for information on how their little plan is working, and he asks no one about Ziva. He texts Palmer occasionally and sends Gibbs a few emails he knows the older man will never read. He does not call her. He reworks his budget and dips into his savings and makes a list of things he can sell if all of this takes too long. He spares no thought for how his former partner will manage.

He waits fourteen days, but on the fifteenth, he decides he can't wait any longer. He is all raw nerves and pent up fury when he finally pounds on her door. He can't keep still, he bounces on the balls of his feet as he waits for her. He knocks again, even harder. It's 10:00 AM on a Wednesday, all of the neighbors should be at work. She is the only one he'll disturb.

She opens the door and for a second before her guard goes up, she looks happy to see him. That almost undoes him, but then she is once again reserved and stone-faced, and she has the nerve to ask what he's doing there.

He ignores her question and steps inside her apartment without an invitation. He walks around the living room, examining the tasteful art on her walls, trying to wrangle his racing thoughts and turn them coherent words.

"How's your summer been, Ziva?" That's what he comes up with.

She watches him warily, doesn't answer. He decides that's fine. He'll ignore her questions, she'll ignore his. That sounds like them.

"I kept waiting for you to call," he says, still pacing the length of her living room. "I kept waiting because obviously I'm a fucking idiot who hasn't been paying attention for the last seven years. But still, I'm gonna ask. Why didn't you call, Ziva?"

She remains still and silent in the middle of the room.

"Because I'm starting to feel like I'm living in the Twilight Zone. What happened to 'You're my best friend, Tony'? Does that only apply when we're working across the room from each other? Please, give me an explanation. Anything. Because I'm really beginning to feel like I imagined the better part of the last year."

It takes her a while to answer, but he waits. He can be still and quiet too. He can wait for this.

It takes her a while, but she does answer him. Or, at least she tries. "It is clear that I...am not who you want me to be."

He wants to scream, but he grits his teeth instead. He stares her down and tells her what she already knows, what he's made more than fucking clear. "You are all I want."

Everything goes kind of fuzzy then, and he can't say for sure how comes to be kissing her or which of them made the first move. All he knows is that he has her pinned against the wall, and he cannot get enough of her. Her kisses are urgent and demanding, and he knows he's not the only one who can't get enough. He pulls her shirt over her head and groans at the contact with her skin. She is whimpering and rolling her hips against him, and he smiles at that. Badass Ziva, and he's making her _whimper. _He would like to savor the moment, but he needs to move this along. His hand hovers over the button on her waist band. God, he wants her. He is so close to having her.

But he is furious with her.

He lets his hand fall to his side, and he takes a step back from her, ignoring his body's screams of protest. He wants her, and he is furious with her, and it feels more like three years ago than three months ago.

He is not going back there.

She is staring up at him, disappointed, maybe, but not surprised. She is still breathing heavily and her lips have that swollen, just-kissed thing going on, and it's really taking everything in him not to wrap his arms around her and pick up right where they left off.

But that is not how thing are going to go between them.

"I'm not doing this, Ziva. Not like this. I'm not going to ruin everything, and I'm not going to let you either."

She opens her mouth to speak, but she can't seem to get her words out. She crosses her arms to cover her chest and gives him a small nod. He returns the gesture and heads for the door.

"You should really call your friends," is all he can think to say before he leaves.


	6. Small Steps

**Small Steps.**

They are at a table for three, and if she wanted she could convince herself that her appearance would be an intrusion. She hesitates on the sidewalk, peering through the window into the bar. She could keep walking, but McGee turns his head at just the right moment and sees her standing there. His smile is genuine, and he spills his drink when he jumps up to wave at her.

Well, she has to go in now.

Abby meets her at the door, all hugs and squeals and gentle admonishments. Tony has pulled up a chair, and it is so effortless, the way they shift to make room for her.

She hands McGee some napkins. "I am sorry about your drink."

"No, it's okay. I was just happy to see you. It's been so long…."

She is sorry about that too, and this time she says so. It earns her a half-grin from Tony, and she begins to relax. It isn't awkward, the way she'd worried it would be without the buffer of common work. McGee has been doing some freelance IT jobs, and he is just tipsy enough to make jokes about some of the emails he's been screening for a well-known think tank.

"Retirement is bad for Tony," Abby says. "Have you seen how he's been spending his time?"

"I have not, but now I'm intrigued."

"Hey, we're just all trying to use our strengths here, okay? McGeek Squad has the computer thing going, and I'm just doing what I can for some extra cash."

Ziva turns to Abby for interpretation.

"He's blogging."

"I'm writing a _guest column_."

"He's a blogger. At a site for teenage comic book enthusiasts."

"I'm a film critic."

She lets loose the burst of laughter she's been trying to hold in. Abby holds up her phone and shows Ziva his latest "column." It is a passionate defense of Ben Affleck as the next Batman.

McGee looks disgusted. "He got that one all wrong."

"You appear to have very strong feelings about Batman, Tony. I never would have guessed," she says.

He looks her dead in the eyes and says, "I have a lot of pent up frustrations you know nothing about, Zi_va_."

She can't help but think back to visit to her apartment this morning. She is determined not to be the one who looks away first.

"Okay, this just got a little weird." Abby takes the phone from Ziva. "Let's go back to talking about McGee's adventures in email eavesdropping."

The tension breaks, and they return to making each other laugh and to speculating about when they'll be able to return to their real work. She has missed this…them. She was foolish to stay away for so long.

The evening ends and she follows Tony to his car.

"Are you parked down here too?"

Her car is three block in the opposite direction. "No."

"Ah. Then, I assume you have something to say?"

She would like to kiss him, to skip all the hard stuff. It is comfortable to her, using sex to avoid intimacy. It is one of her most finely honed skills. She moves in close, but stops just short.

"I…I just want you to know that I am trying," she says.

He leans against the car and waits for her to say more.

"Do you think that it will be enough?"

He is silent for so long she convinces herself that even her best efforts are a disappointment. She turns to go, but he takes her hand before she can leave.

"I think," he whispers "that it's a decent place to start."


	7. Other Homes

**AN: **I like to follow canon when it comes to ff, but I won't be doing that for any post-season 10 fic. I'm not watching anymore, & I don't even know what canon is. Hope you enjoy the last small installment of this story.

**Other Homes.**

He doesn't expect to hear from her so soon. But here it is, the morning after their night at the bar, and he wakes up to a text.

_Coffee?_

He replies that he'll be there in twenty minutes. He doesn't have to ask where. They have a place. That's what happens when you've been someone's partner for seven years. You develop a history full places and moments and words both said and unsaid.

She's waiting for him. She's ordered his coffee and his favorite pastry, and she smiles when he walks in. It is normal and relaxed, and it has him feeling better than he has in months.

"This might not work."

And damn, he could hear those words so many ways. He just leaves them hanging there, unsure he wants to know what she means.

"This...plan. It might not work, not this time."

"You mean the job?" He is unsure if he is relieved, or frustrated.

She nods. "We may never get to go back. Or, we might, but it might not be the same."

Well, yeah. He's been thinking it too, that maybe those days are over. That maybe this is the time Gibbs' team doesn't get put back together. He doesn't know how to answer her.

"Maybe it is time to find another home." She doesn't say it directly to him. It's murmured and under her breath.

She's still talking about NCIS. She still doesn't get it, and he is tired of being her interpreter. "It was never the job that made it home," he says.

To his surprise, she meets his gaze. There's a spark there that he doesn't expect. It looks almost like a promise. "No," she says. "It was the people."

He has been carrying a weight on his chest. It has been pressing him down, making it hard to breathe, but he didn't even know it was there. Not until this moment, when it starts to lift. "And we're all still here."

"If we're not going back, if we won't be sitting across from each other every day...I still...I still want you there, across from me, with me. You specifically, Tony."

And because she apparently can't resist, she adds, "I can hardly believe it myself."

He snorts, starts to make a joke about the DiNozzo charm, but thinks the better of it. In this moment, against all odds and in spite of history, he is getting exactly what he wants. There will be time for jokes later. He reaches across and takes her hand in his, and all the weight he's been carrying is gone.

"Imagine that. The two of us wanting the same thing, at the same time."

"It might not work," she says. Because she's right. Because it should be said.

"I would really, really like to try." Because he knows that this time, there's no way they will fail.

**Fin**


End file.
